Page 15 of Bought By the Masked BRATVA
Her lips part, ready to argue, but I take a step closer. Then another. Until she has to tilt her chin up to meet my eyes.
“This isn’t about your deal anymore,” I tell her. “It’s about ownership. You’re in my world now, and in my world, what’s mine doesn’t get touched. Doesn’t get taken.”
Her breath catches, a soft, defiant sound. “You don’t own me, Liam.”
My mouth curves, slow and dangerous. “You keep saying that like it makes it true.”
For a moment, neither of us moves. The TV drones in the background, her name still echoing through the static. My restraint frays with every repetition of it. The thought of anyone else speaking her name, thinking they have a claim to her, burns through me like acid.
I turn the TV off with a sharp flick of my wrist. The silence that follows is heavy, electric.
“Do you have clothes in your room?” I ask and she nods her head once. “I’ll have them brought here by someone I trust.”
I dip my head and kiss her. I’m almost overwhelmed by how fragile she looks swallowed up in the fluffy robe.
“We need to go,” I say finally. “We’re leaving the hotel. It’s not safe here anymore.”
“Where are we going?” she asks, her eyes betraying how tired she feels. Tired of running, tired of hiding. I don’t know. But I will be the one to fix it.
“Somewhere no one will find you.”
She hesitates, then nods, the robe slipping further down her shoulder. It’s enough to test every ounce of control I have left.
I look away, forcing a breath through my teeth. Possession and protection. They’ve always been two sides of the same coin for men like me. But with her, there’s something more. Something akin to obsession.
And that scares the hell out of me.
Grace
The drive takes us out of the city, through the sprawl of glass and neon until the skyline thins to trees and quiet. I sit in the back seat beside him, wearing clothes retrieved from my case, his coat draped over my legs like a shield.
I should feel safe. Instead, I feel contained.
The further we get from the city, the heavier the silence becomes. Liam doesn’t talk, just watches the world slip by beyond the tinted windows. His profile is all sharp lines and restraint, the kind of man who doesn’t waste words because he never needs to.
I used to be like that, calculated and careful. But that woman feels like a stranger now.
When the car turns off the main road, I expect another hotel. Or a private property somewhere remote. What I don’t expect ishome.
The long driveway winds through dense forest before opening up to a sprawling estate. White stone. Iron gates. Ivy crawling across the façade like veins. It looks old, lived-in. The kind of place built by a family that never had to ask permission for anything.
The driver stops at the front steps, and before I can open my door, Liam’s already there, holding it for me. “Come on,” he says quietly.
The main hall smells faintly of beeswax polish and something warm, like bread. It’s not sterile or empty like I imagined his world would be. It’salive.
And then I hear laughter.
Two voices, a man’s and a woman’s, drifting from somewhere deeper in the house. When they emerge, I freeze.
A man, younger than Liam, with lighter eyes but the same sharp bone structure. A woman in her fifties with deep red hair, wearing a sweater and navy slacks.
His family.
I don’t know what I expected. Maybe that he’d live in isolation, a fortress built on control and silence. But this, this feels almost ordinary. Human.
The woman’s gaze softens when she sees me, flicking between us with quiet curiosity.
“Mother,” Liam says smoothly, his hand settling at the small of my back, possessive and grounding all at once. “This is Grace. She’ll be staying for a while.”
